


The Art of Killing

by RIP_Kevin_Trann



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1967 Chevy Impala - Freeform, AU, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anger, Angst, Bank Robbery, Bonding, Cussing, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Death, Destiel - Freeform, Fighting, Fist Fighting, Gore, Guns, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Impala, Kidnapping, Killing, Knives, Love, M/M, Major Violence, Major character death - Freeform, Murder, Plot, Profound Bond, Robbery, Romance, SPN - Freeform, Serial Killers, Supernatural - Freeform, Torture, Violence, castiel - Freeform, castiel novak - Freeform, machetes, possible sex in later chapters, serial killer au, smothering, suffocation, violence with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:15:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RIP_Kevin_Trann/pseuds/RIP_Kevin_Trann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester are both well known serial killers, and are on the news frequently, so they end up communicating with each other through messages and security tapes. When they finally meet in person, their intent is to kill the other, but things don't happen they way they thought they would. .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "If you try to run, I’ve got six little friends and they can all run faster than you can." — From Dusk Til Dawn

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, if anyone moves," Castiel Novak said, a coy smile on his face, "two get a bullet to the brain. Am I understood?" He glanced around the room to watch his hostage's heads nod, all their eyes filled with fear. Some looked agitated, some depressed, and some worried, but the vast majority of them were afraid. Most people would never even consider doing what he was doing right then, or what he had been doing for a long while now, but it brought a smile to his face. It disgusts them how much joy it brings him, but to be honest, Castiel doesn't give a damn.

He walked up to the bank's counter where a lady was filling a bag, her hands shaking like a little kid in the cold. He rested his elbow on the top and rested his head in his hand, his other arm draped across the surface, the gun pointed at the lady's head. Castiel wasn't normally one for robberies, he was more of a 'kill the toad and hit the road' kind of guy. He went from state to state, leaving a trail of house and apartment murders in his wake. While he traveled, he had a plan bubbling in his mind; a massacre. There was a popular arcade down in Oklahoma he had his eye on. But, in order for that to happen, he needed to make a robbery pit stop. He needed money again.

Castiel smiled sweetly at the woman, knocking his fingers in rhythm against his cheek as she continued to fill his sack with numerous Benjamin Franklins. He lifted his gun in front of his face so he could study it for a moment, and sighed. "You know," he said, and the woman jerked her head up to stare at him. "I don't have all day. I wish I did, I really do, because there are other ways I can think of on how I could spend my time before I have to leave," he looked at the frightened face of the girl over the top of his gun and winked at her, which earned him a whimper and pulled a low chuckle from Castiel. "But, I really do need to be going soon. I can guess you pulled some alarm that I don't know about and the cops are on their way. And I really don't have time to deal with them today."

The woman stared at him for a moment longer, then said with a shaky voice, almost as shaky as her hands, "I don't know what you mean."

Castiel scoffed. "Oh, don't you? Then go ahead and lift up that bobble head for me, will you?" The woman swallowed thickly. "Go on, if there's nothing there, you won't be afraid to show me what's under it," he watched her closely as she reached a trembling hand to lift up the toy, and once she did, there it was. A little red button, with the words Emergency Alarm written in tiny white letters around the edge.

Castiel smirked and looked at the woman, very amused. "Tsk tsk tsk," he said, "we shouldn't lie to a person when he's holding a gun to your head." He pulled the safety back and leveled the barrel to the center of the woman's head. "Now, fill it." He barked. "And fast."

He watched while the woman filled the sack, twice as fast as before, but he whirled around when he heard a pair of shoes scuff the floor. "Now, now," he called, and the boy, about sixteen years old, froze in his tracks. "Turn around, let me have a look at you." Castiel said as he made his was over in an agonizing slow pace. The boy slowly turned around, his hazel eyes wide. Castiel was a few inches taller than the boy, so he had to crane his head slightly to look at the man with the gun. "What's your name, kid?" Castiel asked.

"I. . . Um. . . It's, Gadreel?" He said, his voice was almost a whisper. He nodded.

"Gadreel. I knew a Gadreel back in the day. But a couple years ago he started to get very annoying, so I knocked him in the head with a shovel. Let me tell you, the look on his face. . ." Castiel started laughing, recalling the image in his mind. The boy, Gadreel, just looked at him with shock, and utter fear. Castiel could tell he was freaking out in his mind, so he just smirked at the boy. "You're brave, kid, trying to get out like that. After I said stay put. You got anyone in here with you?"

"I. . Just my, um, girlfriend, Hailey."

"Aw, that's sweet. Go get her, bring her over here."

"Wait, what?"

"Just _do_ it." He sneered. Gadreel scrambled off to find his girl and pulled her off the floor, then lead her shaking form over to Castiel with a protective arm around her waist and one around her shoulders. "Oh, this is just adorable!" He said. He turned to the other hostages. "Aren't they just adorable?" He asked them, to no in particular. When he looked back to Gardreel and his girlfriend, Hailey, he was grinning. He looked back and forth between them a few times before he demanded, "Step away from him, Hailey." She went even more wide eyed and looked over at her boyfriend in panic.

"It's okay, Hailey. We'll be fine. Everything will be okay." He told her. Castiel had to try not to laugh at how obvious his doubt was. He kissed the top of her head and gently shoved her away. They were six feet apart before Castiel spoke again. The grin on his face disappeared a little at a time, until he was looking at them both without a trace of emotion. He looked down at the gun in his hand, and ran his thumb over the writing on the side of the barrel, not looking at them as he spoke.

"Now, Gadreel, what did I say earlier about moving around?" He looked at Gadreel, his head still tilted down. He opened and closed his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He looked at Hailey, worried out of his mind, then looked back at Castiel and swallowed a lump that wasn't really there. He shut his eyes as if it was just dawning on him that Castiel had said something just a while earlier. He could tell Gadreel knew what was about to happen, because at that very moment, he stood up a little straighter and raised his head, and looked him in the eyes as he spoke to him, although his voice was still shaky. Castiel knew very well there was nothing Gadreel could do about that.

"You said. . . You said if anyone moves, that two. . . Two people would be. . . Shot." He finished, and Hailey wailed. They both looked on the verge of tears. Ugh, Catiel hated when hostages cried. So he usually shot or stabbed the ones that did. But these two people wouldn't be a problem much longer.

"I did. And why didn't you listen?" Castiel asked him, as if he actually wondered why. Gadreel's tongue darted out and back in nervously before he responded.

"Because I thought. . I. . I thought I could be quiet enough to get out and. . Get help." The corners of Castiel's lips turned up slightly, but went down just as quickly.

"Well, you thought wrong. And now you have to face my consequences." He pulled back the safety and aimed the gun at Hailey's chest, and pulled the trigger. It hit her, and with a yelp she fell to the ground, a pool of blood already forming on the floor around her.

"Hailey!" Gadreel cried, and stumbled over to her, falling onto the floor to cradle her head as her breathing hitched. He was muttering things like "No, no.." Or "Just hold on, baby, you're going to be fine.." But just a couple minutes if this was all she could take, and the life left her eyes and her hand went limp in Gadreel's. When he looked up at Castiel, there were tears trailing down his face.

"I told you," Castiel said quietly, "you have to face the consequences of disobeying. I'm sorry, but that's how the world works. It was nice meeting you, Gadreel." He lifted this gun to point at the sixteen year old's head, and pulled the trigger. He fell over next to his dead girlfriend, and everyone in the room just stared as the white tile floor slowly turned red.

He looked around at all of their stunned, frightened faces and added, "anyone else want to try leaving without my consent?" He immediately got head shakes from everyone. "Good."

"Um, sir? That's all the money we have. I swear it." Castiel whirled around to see his sack, filled to the brim with money, resting atop the counter with a very freaked out woman behind it. He strode over and snatched it off the counter and flashed the woman a smile.

"Thank you, lovely. At least you listened to me. I suppose I should give you something in return. . " He pointed the gun at her leg and the gun went off. She fell to the ground with a shriek, grabbing her thigh with both hands. She looked up at Castiel with tears in her wide, bloodshot eyes. "I'll let you live." He turned away from her and ran off to the back of the bank, leaving the way he came. And just as he escaped, a S.W.A.T. team plowed through the door, only to find about a dozen hostages, a crying woman behind the counter with a gunshot wound, and two dead bodies laying in the middle of the floor.

* * *

****

"As you can see, the situation is severe. Sheriff Jody Mills has called for a S.W.A.T. team to come in before they make any moves on the building and the criminal inside. We have been informed that there may have been gunshots within the bank's walls, so stay tuned for further details. Until then, here is an image of the robber's face."

A photo of a man flashed on the screen. Mildly short, curly brown hair and vibrant blue eyes that could catch just about anyone's attention. He dressed as a normal businessman in all his news photos. Tan trench coat, navy blue suit and pants, shiny black dress shoes, white shirt and a blue tie. His name was Castiel Novak, and was 5'11, just a couple inches shorter than himself.

He looked the same every time Dean Winchester saw him on the news. Which was quite often, in fact. He found himself mentioned on some programs along side this trench coated man, both labeled as "extremely violent and dangerous serial killers". They were both wanted for just about the same things. Murder. Robberies. Assault. Sexual Harassment. Except Dean got upset with that charge, because as far as he was concerned he never sexually harassed anyone. And not to protect anyone here, but neither had that Castiel guy, for all he knew.

The corners of Dean's mouth quirks up as the news program turned back on. The S.W.A.T. team had arrived, and were about to burst into the building. He watched with amusement as the police officers, S.W.A.T., reporters and civilians ran around, and some of them looked completely lost, which added to Dean's amusement. He smirked once they finally stormed into the bank, slightly shaking his head. "This guy is such an amateur," he mumbled. "I could have been in and out of there in ten minutes time."

He continued watching as they camera caught view of two dead bodies on the floor inside the bank, surrounded in a dark pool of blood. Dean raised his eyebrows, just barley, and nodded with tiny little movements. "Not bad for a newbie." He said to himself. At that moment, his brother, Sam, walked in the room and caught a look at the television.

"What are you watching, Dean?" He asked, and Dean shrugged while picking up the remote off of the table.

"Just watching another live footage news report on that Castiel guy." He clicked off the twenty inch flat screen on the wall and turned to his brother. "He's on the other end of the state robbing Westside Bank."

"Oh? Did you get anything new on him?" Sam asked as he made himself a cup of coffee.

"Nah, not really." Dean sighed. "He's gotten a little better at robbing, but that's about it. The camera crew caught sight of two dead bodies in the middle of the floor. He usually only shoots them to injure. Now he's moved on to actually killing them when he needs money. I'm a bit impressed with the guy." Sam laughed and shook his head, coming to take the seat across from his brother.

"Dean, come on. We know he's not stupid, we can tell he knows what he's doing. And to make him seem better, he does it all alone."

"This is true," Dean agreed. "I am impressed that he can do it all by himself, I have you for security camera and house, or apartment alarm issues, whereas he doesn't. I will admit that. But he still takes about three times as long as I do, he doesn't kill as much, which makes him seem a bit soft to me. But, he's never been caught and he gets the job done." He looked at Sam expecting him to make another remark, but he kept looking at Dean and said nothing, waiting for him to finish because he could tell he wasn't finished yet. "All I'm saying is, until he can master those aspects, he's still an amateur."

Dean pushed back from the table and grabbed a beer from the fridge, then started to walk towards the back of the house they were in. "Dean, where are you going?" Sam asked as Dean opened the door to the left of the garage door. Dean turned around, half in the room and half in the hall, then looked at his brother. Sam saw something behind his brother's eyes that told him he was putting together a new plan. "Dean," he repeated, "what are you doing?"

He cracked a mischievous smile as he responded. "I'm going to teach a beginner how it's _really_ done." He winked at his brother and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He turned and faced what was behind, and his grin grew even wider.

A variety of tools and playthings line the walls and shelves of the room. There was a crate of sacks for needed robberies in one corner, and the rest of it was a selection of guns, knives, a few machetes, ropes, duct tape, a box of grenades, which he had used quite often lately, and other little nifty things Dean liked to use on occasion.

He wondered how the guy got out. Unless he was captured, then he had a death sentence hanging over his head for sure. But if he did escape, Dean wondered how. Maybe he actually did have an accomplice, like Dean did, but just never saw him, just like no one ever sees Sam. They think it's all him. But he doubted that. He was too focused on how he did things, that was obvious. How sloppy his work was, well, at least it was sloppy to Dean, proved that.

Although, he did have to admit, the guy wasn't bad. He'd seen much, much worse. He started seeing Castiel on the news about five months ago, and at first he never really paid attention to him. Just another idiot trying to make his life interesting. But this guy had some skill. Not nearly as skilled as himself, but he had it nevertheless. He'll give him some credit. But one other thought had been on his mind lately - Had Castiel been paying attention to him, too?

Now, Dean knew if he really wanted this guy's attention, he had to make this good. He had a few ideas up his sleeve. Some ideas he had would most definitely scare the shit out of a normal person. Literally. But they were appealing to Dean, and that's all he cared about. He liked scaring the shit out of people. One time he actually scared a guy to death. He had taken the time to actually research the family, and learned they were all huge fans of the whole Nightmare On Elm Street and Freddy Krueger thing.

So he made himself look like Freddy himself and did that whole job like it had been done in the movies, with the exception of their dad dying of fear. He was pretty proud of that night.

Dean walked around and picked out a couple different guns, several knives, a good sized machete, a rope and duct tape, and some chloroform, and shoved it all into a sports duffel, and went back the way he came so he could get to his car, or rather, his baby, as he called it. He closed and locked the door once he was back in the hall and turned to his brother, who was still at the table, on his laptop. He looked up as Dean pulled the garage door ajar, and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm heading out, Sam. Keep your phone ready, I'll let you know when I need you." He wiggled his own eyebrows at his brother, who rolled his eyes in response as he shut the door and went to his car, a nineteen sixty-seven Chevy Impala. He put the duffel bag in the trunk and walked to the driver's side, placing a hand on the hood and sighing contently.

"Alright, baby," he said, smiling at his car. "Time to get rolling again. Let's go show the amateur how it's done."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let me tell you a little something about murder. It's fun, it's easy, and you're gonna learn all about it." - The Crow

As Dean drove, he slipped one of his Metallica cassette tapes into the cassette player so the ride wouldn't be so quiet. Eye of the Beholder started to stream through the speakers, so he turned up the volume, mouthing the words to the song as he turned onto a small backroad in Bowling Green, Kentucky. He liked this town. To be honest, he was a little depressed that he and his brother would have to leave soon. But, staying was not an option. Never had been with their way of life. And in order for a news program to reach Paducah, it had to be a good go around.

He pulled off the road behind a back parking lot behind his target and parked within the safety of some trees. He stepped out and walked around to the trunk to retrieve his duffel bag, and a baseball cap so it didn't seem as strange. Because a guy walking into a bank with a duffel bag wasn't suspicious at all. He set the bag on the ground and closed the trunk, then pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket. He called Sam, who he had on speed dial, and waited for him to pick up. He answered on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Sam," Dean said, "you got your laptop ready? I got some instructions for you."

"Yeah, I got it open." He said. "What do you need me to do?"

"Alright, pull up the live security camera footage of First Security Bank off of Scottsville road. How many people are inside?" He waited while Sam messed with his laptop, listening to the faint typing he could just barley hear.

"Okay. . . Got it. There's about thirty three people inside, around ten of them under the age of fifteen." He said.

"Awesome. Okay, shut down all alarms and lock all exit doors but the front. Don't lock that one until exactly. ." He glanced at his watch, which read three fifty-three. "Four O'clock. Got it?" He waited while his brother did some more typing.

"Done and done. Four O'clock. Got it." Sam paused. "You sure you don't want to wait a little while longer? We have enough to last us maybe three months, Dean." Dean laughed lightly, shaking his head even though Sam couldn't see it.

"Oh, Sam." He said. "Just. . . Picture me as school teacher. Or a manager of some place. I'm just showing a worker the ropes of how to do his job. Nothing more, nothing less. Besides, after this, we should be good on money for almost a year. So, yes, I'm sure. Alright, I'm going in. Stay on the line." He heard Sam reply, but didn't quite catch what he said as he slipped the phone back in his pocket. Dean picked up the duffel and confidently made his way to the door.

He walked in and stopped several feet from the door and surveyed his surroundings. Sam always gave good information, and as usual, he was pretty spot on. Around thirty three people. Most of the minors were at most ten years old, but there were a few around the age of fifteen. He smiled and greeted the man that walked past him and out the door. Dean smiled to himself as he fixed his cap. The man was a lucky guy, walking out those doors before four. He looked at his wrist just as it changed, and he heard the faint sound of the lock clicking into place.

It was time to get this show on the road.

Dean walked over to an empty teller and smiled. The man behind the counter smiled back, but not before looking up and down. His eyes lingered on his duffel a little longer than necessary before he looked back at Dean. "Good afternoon." Dean said.

"Same to you." The teller said. "Where you off to?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean laughed lightly and lifted his duffel bag a little and looked at it for a brief second before turning his attention back to the man in front of him. "I'm trying out for the baseball team. Kentucky Wildcats. It's been a dream of mine, hopefully they'll accept me. I've been preparing for it for years now."

"Oh, that's fantastic! I love watching baseball. Maybe I'll see you on my television screen someday soon?" He said with a warm smile. He seemed to relax a little, and Dean tried not to smirk.

"Maybe. That's what I'm hoping for." Dean said. "I actually got a brand new bat just for try outs. You want to see it?"

"Sure, just show me with it inside the bag, though, I don't want to scare anyone."

"Oh yes, of course." Dean set the bag down on the floor and gave the man an excited smile. He crouched next to his bag and pulled the zipper open, but only enough to stick his and inside. He curled his fingers around the handgun he brought with him and took a deep breath. He only wished he could see Castiel's reaction in person. A shame, really. But if he had his priorities straight, Castiel would find a way to contact him once he saw all this. Possibly through messages on walls or encoded messages in plain sight. Possibilities were endless.

Dean stood and pointed the barrel at the man's head, who at the moment was not looking at him. When he turned his head, Dean could actually see his breathing stop. One of the teenagers behind him screamed, so he looked behind him as a smile spread on his features. When he looked back at the bank teller, he was wearing a full on devilish grin. The man looked from Dean to the gun, and back again, and Dean chuckled. "Baseball," he mused. "You really thought I was going to try out for baseball?" He snorted and shook his head with amusement. "I don't even know how to play the damn game. I'm surprised you bought that."

"Well, how was I supposed to know you were lying? You seemed so friendly. . " He trailed off as he met Dean's gaze. He was strangely calm, which struck Dean as odd. Then he thought; maybe the guy had pressed an alarm that he couldn't see. Maybe that was the case. But since Sam had disabled them all, he didn't need to worry about it.

He bent down and pulled a sack from his duffel and handed it to the teller and said, "if this isn't filled with everything that you got in the next six minutes, your life is mine. Understand?" The man nodded quickly and disappeared into the back. Dean looked behind the counter and his attention was drawn to the floor, where a brunette was trying to quietly make her way across to the other end, where he saw an alarm, on the wall and in plain sight. He laughed and the woman jerked her head up and saw Dean watching her, which made her face change from scared to utterly frightened.

Dean simply shook his head and said, "not today you don't. Although, it wouldn't matter if you did, because it wouldn't do anything if you hit the alarm anyway. They're all disabled." The woman and several others gaped at him.

"How?" A younger man asked. Dean looked at him and shrugged.

"Some things just aren't meant to be told." He looked back at the other woman, who was still on her hands and knees on the floor. "And even just trying to do something that's useless, like pulling a disabled alarm, is annoying to me." With a swift movement of his arm, the gun changed targets and went off, the woman collapsing in a lifeless heap on the floor. "And when I'm annoyed, guns tend to accidentally go off. Sometimes other things happen. I actually have a machete with me, if anyone wants to volunteer for some experiments with that." He received some dumbfounded looks from half the people inside, which made him laugh.

At that same moment, a couple of the teenage girls made a break for the door, and Dean just watched them as they struggled to open them. "That's not going to work, either." He called out to them. "They're all locked." Without another word, both girls crumpled to the ground with two shots. Dean lifted the barrel in front of his face and blew on the end, pushing away the slightest bit of smoke. "Hurry up back there! You've got a minute and a half left!" He shouted to the teller with his sack. He turned and leaned on the counter, looking everyone over. His eyes found a security camera that faced a sitting area just across the room, and above two armchairs, the wall was blank. Nothing but white. It gave Dean an idea.

He strode across the room, but not before pulling the machete out of his bag, and eyed the people standing in the general area. His gaze landed on a man, about his age, and he took two steps towards him and grabbed his arm and yanking him away from his counterparts who yelled in protest. He led the guy in front of the blank space above the chairs and let go of his arm and looked at him. The man looked back with a very controlled, yet distraught expression. "Now," Dean said to him, "this May hurt a little bit."

"What are you-" he was cut off by the scream that replaced his words as the machete came down on his forearm. He fell to the ground desperately clutching his arm which was now missing a hand and crying out at a very pitched volume. Dean rolled his eyes as he crouched down next to him.

"I told you it would hurt." Was all he said, and he ignored the angry glare he received. He looked at the carpet in front of him, which was slowly being stained. "There we go." Dean slicked his right hand in red and stood to face the wall. He smirked as he started to write. He had to keep bending down to re-coat his hand, but he didn't mind one bit. He just wanted to get this finished. Once he did, he stood back and admired his work. A smile spread onto his face, but slowly disappeared when the bleeding man behind him spoke.

"That's it? You cut off half of my fucking arm just to write two damn words on the wall? What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean sighed as he turned around. He watched the man for a minute before he said anything.

"Just shut up," he said. But then the took a second to think about what he had just said. "Or, I could shut you up myself. Because, before you get out of this building, you're either going to bleed to death, or I'm going to finish you off. So either way, you'll be dying today, I hate to break it to you. But," he stood, wielding his machete, "my way is more fun. I hope you didn't have any plans, I'd hate to have anyone get stood up on a date." Before he could respond, Dean thrust his arm foreword, right through the man's heart. He pulled it free and let him fall to the floor. He wiped the flat edges on the dead man's shirt and made his way back to his bag, just as the teller walked out with a full sack of doe.

"He-here. It's all we have. I promise. Just please don't. . Don't. . " his eyes widened as they landed on the dead woman behind the counter, then shifted to the two teenagers near the doors, and finally to the man in front of the waiting chairs. He looked back at Dean, clearly not knowing what to say or think anymore. He watched Dean carefully as he checked the time, then he stuck out his bottom lip and looked at the teller.

"Aww. Would you look at the time? You're late, my friend." He crouched to put the machete back and pull out a smaller hand knife as he left the teller to find words.

"I. . I really thought I was out in six. . " He started, but Dean held out a hand to silence him.

"No, not quite. Seven. You were out in seven."

"Yes, but that's only a minute difference. Surely you can grant me that much. . " He laughed nervously, but immediately stopped when Dean gave him a look.

"Hmm." Dean said. "I might consider it if I were on my own time, but today I'm only here to show someone else the ropes, which means no pity will be taken account of this time around. I'm sorry." But as soon as he said those last two words, he mouthed to the man 'no I'm not'. And before he could defend himself, he reached over the counter and slit the man's throat. He slid to the floor with both hands at his neck.

Dean put everything back in his bag and threw the sack over his shoulder as he pulled his phone from his pocket and said, "Alright, Sammy, unlock the front door. But lock it back as soon as I give the word." He put it away again and hauled the sack and the bag out the door, a triumphant smile on his face. Shortly after Dean left the building, the doors locked again, leaving everyone inside paralyzed and unable to move. They all stared at the words Dean wrote in the man's blood on the wall. A single name:

_CASTIEL NOVAK._

* * *

The television was the only thing flickering in the dark room of the hotel Castiel was staying in. Or rather borrowing a room, considering he had picked the lock to a vacant one at two in the morning. He had taken one of the sodas someone had left in the miniature refrigerator and reclined in one of the chairs. He let himself relax and relish in the events of that day as he flipped through the channels, looking for something to watch.

He was about to give up and leave it on a nature program when he came across the news report. Another bank robbery had taken place, a couple hours after his own, in the town of Bowling Green. He retracted the footrest of his seat and sat up. He paid very close attention as the reporter spoke.

"A very tragic event has taken place over in Bowling Green, just after four O'clock yesterday. Leaving a bank broke of money and 5 dead. Police not arriving until almost five, because the assailant had somehow locked the doors and disabled all of the building's alarms before ever entering the building. At least that's what the tech master they had brought into the situation has stated. He said that all alarms shut down just before four, and the doors locked at exactly four, with the deadly man inside. We do not have a clear photo of the man, but there is security footage. Todd?"

They showed the footage, and it was of a man wearing a Kentucky Wildcats baseball cap. Castiel couldn't see his face for a minute because he kept his head down. But once he moved to the other side of the room with the chairs - with a machete in hand, to his surprise - he got a look at his face. He looked fairly strong, brawny shoulders and bowlegs. He seemed to be at least six feet tall with sandy blonde hair and, even from a security tape, Castiel could tell he had green eyes.

He watched in awe as the capped man pulled another man away from his peers, and exchanged a word or two before he cut off half his arm. His mouth hung open as he watched, the guy coated his hand in the blood from the floor and walked over to the wall. He couldn't see what he was doing, because they kept it on the one camera's footage, but when he finally stepped back into view, the camera changed to the one in the seating area.

As he realized what had been written on the walls, his eyes widened, and his mouth gaped even more, if that was even possible. The man had seemed familiar before, but now he had to remember his name. Castiel knew he'd seen him somewhere before. All he needed was a name. Just a name. . .

He closed his eyes and racked his brain for it. Sandy blond hair, green eyes, six feet tall, brawny. . "Dean Winchester." He whispered. He turned his attention back to the screen where the footage was still going. He watched as Dean Winchester, if he was right about his identity, pick up his things and his bag of tools, and make his way to the doors. But he stopped and looked directly at the camera, almost like he was looking right at Castiel, and apparently he meant to, and said, "And that, Castiel Novak, wherever you may be now, is how a robbery is done." He winked at the camera with a smirk on his face, and walked out the doors. All Castiel could do was stare at the screen, but he was no longer paying attention to the news. He was lost in deep thought.

Without warning, he quickly shut off the television and snatched his laptop off the coffee table, and opening it. As he typed in the search bar over and over, read articles, and watched videos, this look of determination never left his eyes. He was determined to do as much research on this Dean Winchester as he could before he left in a few hours. He didn't know why, but he wanted to learn as much as he could. For some strange, unknown reason, he wanted to impress him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you want to know why I use a knife? Guns are too quick. You can't savor all the… little emotions. In… you see, in their last moments, people show you who they really are. So in a way, I know your friends better than you ever did." - The Dark Knight

Castiel left just before six that morning, going over all the information his brain had sucked in and was trying to figure out what to do next. Even though he read numerous articles Bout this guy, he still went over the basic information more that what was probably necessary:

Name: Dean Winchester.

Age: 30.

Height: Six feet one inch.

Gender: Male, obviously.

Parents: Mary and John Winchester.

Siblings: Sam Winchester.

Occupation: Criminal, six years running, wanted for several charges, and guaranteed life in prison, if not a death penalty, if captured.

Sexuality: Bi.

Religion: Unknown.

He went over this same information over and over. He even did research on his brother, Sam. He was four years younger than Dean, and was a few inches taller. He was ready to go to Stanford to be a lawyer six years ago, right before Dean went rogue, and almost no one has heard from him since. It's almost like he just vanished. He never went to Stanford. Some people think that Sam's disappearance is the reason for Dean going dark side. But that didn't matter. He was still on major charges, just like himself, and was always on the run so he always had to keep moving.

But from all the research he did, he came to know that his little brother was basically his only weak spot, if he could even call it that. More like. . . A touchy subject. He had watched a video of when he almost got arrested a couple years ago, down in Florida. The Sheriff down in Miami was trying to distract him, get him worked up so his men could get him easier since he'd be less concerned about his actions and not pay attention as much. Well, Dean didn't just get worked up; he got pissed. He killed seven officers that day. And the sheriff, that poor man. Even Castiel felt a little bad for him. The sheriff's wife had found him a few days later, his body torn and cut to pieces, in their outdoor trash can.

He was headed to Caynyon City, Colorado, where a sixteen year old girl had won a five million dollar check just several days ago. But he also read that she was spoiled and she wanted it so bad, her dad supposedly hijacked the drawing so his daughter would win. If there was one thing that Castiel hated more than crying hostages, it was spoiled teenagers who think they deserve everything, and desperately want what they might not be able to have, and who would do anything to get it. So, her house was his next target.

Castiel looked out his window just as he passed the city limits. He looked at the time, which read seven forty two, then turned his attention back to the road and smiled. Sometimes, but not very often, he saw why people were disgusted and horrified by him, but much more often, at times such as now, he only saw the good things. He started to laugh, and soon he was laughing so much it was getting difficult to breathe. He reached over and turned on his radio as he reached a stop light. This was going to be good.

He looked at his hand where he had written down the girls address and made his way through the streets. He parallel parked his car on the opposite end of the street and waited for any evidence that they were home, since all the lights of the house were off. He waited around fifteen minutes before a convertible pulled into heir driveway, and they all piled out. He watched closely as they made their way to the porch, smiles on their faces and take out containers in their hands. But Castiel paid more attention to the girl than her parents or little brother.

"Daddy, did you order my new stereo yet?" She said. Castiel almost groaned in annoyance at her rude, needy tone.

"Ah, no, not yet sweetheart. I will as soon as I-" He was cut off by his daughter stamping her foot down on the porch.

"Ugh! But daddy, you promised! It's been a week since I asked! Why don't I have my stereo?" She whined.

"Okay, okay. I'll do it as soon as we get inside, alright?"

"Fine." She mumbled, but then she raised her voice. "But it better be here by Saturday or I'm going to call Derek!"

"It will, I promise." Her father unlocked the door and she pushed past him and stormed inside. Castiel heard him mumble something but couldn't make it out, then he motioned for his wife and son to come inside. When he closed the door behind them, he locked it and went to the table where he saw a laptop. He watched as he sat down and open it with a frown, pulling his credit card out of his wallet. He looked away from the house and out at the empty road in front of him, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He knew he needed to wait a few hours, and it was going to suck.

* * *

It was almost one thirty in the morning before everyone but her father had gone to bed, who was watching infomercials and drinking a beer. Castiel had taken the hours he spent having to wait to come up with a good plan. He took a breath and got out of his car, watching to make sure the guy hadn't heard him close the car door. He collected some things from the back to use; a couple knives, a gun, a coil of rope, a gag, and a pair of wire cutters. He put everything but the wire cutters away in a small backpack and took it into hand, then quietly made his way across the road.

He located the fuse box and quickly went over to it. He pried it open as quietly and carefully as he could and partially pulled out the clump of wires that lay inside. He clamped down on them and looked up as the power to the house shut off. The corners of his lips quirked up and he dashed behind the nearest tree, waiting for the man to come outside. He heard the crunch of dead leaves under his feet and smiled to himself. He slowly turned his head to look behind the tree, where the man was now opening the fuse box. "What the hell?" He said when he saw the cut lines.

Castiel rushed out from behind the tree and ran over to him, covering his mouth with one hand and driving the knife into his back with the other. The man let out a few whimpers as he fell to the ground, Castiel not taking his hand off his mouth until he was certain he was dead. He stood up and looked down at him, and he felt nothing. When he first started, he felt a little for the victims, but the more he did it the less he felt. To be completely honest, Castiel wasn't even sure why he still did it. But it was all he knew these days, so he stuck with it. His headshot was pinned up in so many places by now, he knew there was no going back. No trying to live a normal life. He was stuck. And frankly, he was okay with it.

He stepped into the unlocked door and shut it behind him, surveying his surroundings. Living area to his left, dining area in front, hallway to his right. He took to the hallway, which led to another hallway. He walked slowly, with caution, as he was used to. He stopped in front of one of the doors that had a sign on it that said, "Gabe's room! Tiffany is not allowed!" Which had little drawings of dinosaurs and spaceships on it. It brought a little smile to his face. It reminded him of how he used to have a sign on his bedroom door when he was a little boy, saying his abundance of siblings we not allowed. But then it also brought back the memory of his last visit to his parents house. . A strong pang of sadness hit him like a wave. He took a deep breath and tried to rid his mind of the memory and turned the knob.

He stepped in the room and looked at the boy, who looked to be nine. He stepped over and around the toy cars, dinosaurs, and army men that littered the carpet and went to stand next to the bed. There was a night light shaped like a space ship plugged into the wall on the opposite side. He looked at the boy as he slept. He looked peaceful, like he was dreaming he was up in the stars. He reminded Castiel of himself at that age. He had curly brown hair like his own, and a similar face shape. He felt like leaving him alone and just taking everyone else, just for a moment. But then he shook the thought out of his head. And even if he did do that, it would ruin the kid's life.

So he set the knife down on the bedside table and carefully took an extra pillow from his bed and placed it over him. Even though he's not going to back out from him, he won't harm him physically. He's nine. He may be a killer, but he does have some dignity. He watched as the boy slowly stopped breathing, and once he did, he lifted the pillow and set it back where it originally was. He picked up his knife from the table and carefully made his way out, softly shutting the door behind him.

The next room he came to was the sixteen year old, Tiffany's room. But he wasn't going after her yet, he was going to wait and finish her off last. He had something in mind for her. So he passed her door and made for the door that was left ajar at the end of the hall. He stuck his head in and found himself looking at the girl's mother. But since he had seen the girl's room, he wanted to get to her as soon as he could. So he shrugged off his back pack and pulled out the gun, took three steps into the room for better aim, and shot her in the head. He tucked it away and went back into the hall.

When he got back to her room he opened the door precariously, looking in before fully opening the door to make sure she was still asleep. He set his bag down on her vanity and took his things out. He used the wire cutter to work through the rope so he could have a smaller section to work with. He walked over to the edge and leaned over her, grabbing her wrists but not waking her up. Once her wrists were tied together and to the bedpost, he took another section of rope and tied her ankles.

He was genuinely surprised she hadn't woken up yet, mainly because he tied the ropes pretty tight. She must be a heavy sleeper, it was all he could think of as to why she hadn't come to. But he decided to make use of the moment.

Castiel stuck the gag in her mouth then went over to his bag. He pulled out his unused knife and the sharpener he always brought with him. He dragged the edge over it once, that metal-on-metal sound ringing through the room, was all to took. Her eyes shot open and she looked around, the fact that she was tied to the bed slowly sinking in. Castiel started sharpening the knife again, and her eyes darted over to him, and one, two, three seconds passed before she screamed behind the gag. He looked up from his weapon of choice and smirked as her wide eyes bored into him.

"You're awake. I thought I'd have to come shake you awake myself." He set the sharpener down and went over to the bed. "You're a pretty heavy sleeper, I'd have though you'd wake up when I first tied your wrists." She made another noise as he leaned over her and touched the knife to her skin. "Although, the amount of attitude you were giving your dad might have weighed you down so much that your body was trying to sleep it off."

She turned her head to the side as if she didn't understand what he was telling her. "Oh, yes. I've been here for hours. I was here when you came home from dinner. That was very rude of you, by the way. I hate it when you teenagers get like that. I mean, how hard is it to respect what you have?" Now he was pacing the end of the bed, while the girl, Tiffany, watched him with fear. "Now," he said as he made his way back to the side, "I actually want to get some sleep, so let's hurry this up, shall we?"

* * *

A couple hours passed before Castiel became tired, and as he pulled himself away from the bed, which was now bloodstained, he made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "Okay, I'm about done. I really need to be going, I need some sleep, too. But I can't exactly leave you in this condition, can I?" He put the knife away and pulled the gun out. He turned back to Tiffany, who saw it and then started to pull on the ropes once more. She had done it so often the last couple hours that the skin under the rope on her wrists and ankles was bloody and torn.

"Look, I know you think the past two hours have been hell, so I'm going to make this quick for you. I'm tired. I want sleep. So, it's actually your lucky day. I'd continue if I weren't so tired. So; anything you'd like to say?" She didn't make any noise behind the gag, so he assumed not. "All right then." Castiel said, and pulled the trigger. He sighed, and packed his things.

But before he could leave, Dean Winchester's last actions popped into his head. He walked over and slit one of her wrists and let it run over his fingers, then turned to the closet doors. But instead of writing out his name, he just stuck his initials there. He wiped his hands on her clothes and stuck the knife in his bag once again. When he was walking out the back door, so in case anyone was awake it wouldn't seem obvious to what just happened, he passed the garage and he caught himself being watched by a camera.

He walked over to it, right in the middle of its view, wiggled his eyebrows, then raised his arm in a two finger solute. He quickly went back to his car and loaded his things, and he was gone. The first thing that wandered into Castiel's mind was how long it would take Dean to see what he did and respond. If he even wanted to respond.

* * *

It had been four days since the bank robbery, and Sam and Dean were enjoying it. That night when Dean returned from the robbery, he had a six pack of beer and sirloin steaks for the two of them. They never got to eat anything so expensive, and so time consuming to make, because they always needed to save the money and were always on the run. But Dean had been in such a good mood that day he allowed it for that one night.

The next few days after that, they found themselves in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. They had found out that's where one of the bullies that used to mess with Sam all throughout high school was living, so naturally, Dean pestered Sam until he agreed to go. Sam wasn't one to hold grudges very long, so he had told Dean that it was fine and that we should let him live his life. But Dean kept insisting, so Sam finally gave in so he would shut up about it.

Dean, at the time, was laying on one of the motel beds with a pair of over ear headphones on listening to Led Zeppelin while Sam, as usual, was on his computer. Dean was never sure what he did on there all the time, and he wasn't too interested to know, either. He was too busy coming up with a game plan for the old high school Wedgie Master. There was silence in the room besides the faint sound of Dean's music, which Sam always said to turn down so he wouldn't go deaf. But it wasn't an awkward silence, it was a silence they were used to and they were comfortable with it. It wasn't until Sam's face changed to something of surprise and amusement that the silence was broken.

"Uh, Sam? You okay over there?" Dean asked slowly. Sam just nodded, then shook his head with a light, short laugh and looked at Dean.

"I'm fine, Dean. You just have to come see this." Sam said.

Dean sighed and sat up. "This better be worth seeing, Sammy. Cause if it's not better than Led Zeppelin, I will smack you upside the head." He rolled his eyes as he waited for his brother to get up and come over. Once he was standing over his shoulders, he pointed to the screen and looked at him.

"Tell me what you make of this, Dean." Was all he said to him. He just stood there and stared at the screen for a minute, then suddenly he started to laugh as a goofy grin spread on his face.

"Well, I'll be damned." On the screen was an article called Five Million Dollar Check Winner and Her Family Murdered. But that's not what got him; it was the pictures. But not all of them, just one in particular. It was a teenage girl's room, with the letters D W on the closet doors. Dean knew only one person could have done this.

"It looks like your 'student' responded." Sam said, clearly amused by the whole scene laid out before him.

"That he did, Sammy!" Dean replied excitedly. "That he did!" He then noticed that there was a video underneath the pictures. "Hey, click on that." He motioned towards the video. Sam scrolled down the screen and clicked play. It was only fifteen seconds, but it was enough. It showed him, Castiel, looking at the camera. A short moment passed before he wiggled his eyebrows up and down, then two finger solutes the camera. Dean's smile never left his face. "Looks like I got a little more brainstorming to do today, Sammy." Sam looked at his brother and raised an eyebrow, and Dean just winked at him. "I got a busy night ahead." Dean walked over to the cooler and grabbed a beer.

* * *

The contact went on for weeks. Dean would leave something at a scene for Castiel to see, and then he would do the same for Dean. The locals had no idea what was going on and it highly amused him. But it wasn't just the scene messages, either. They left solutes and winks and told each other things through people's home security cameras. No matter where they traveled, no matter how far apart or close they were to each other, they always left the other something. And at some point, they stopped calling him by his full name, and shortened it to Cas.

Sometime during it all, Dean figured out a pattern. It was pretty easy, if he paid attention enough. How the Feds hadn't figured it out already, he had no clue. Cas always went two states over, or two states up or down, then back a state. He always did the same thing. By the second week, Dean realized that this guy might get in their way, and he didn't like that. He liked having something to do besides killing and running, but if he wasn't careful, something could happen. So he made a mental note that if he ever runs into him, he'd have to kill him. Simple as that.

By the third week, Sam had found a way to track his laptop. Dean had no idea how he did it, but it worked. Wherever Cas had his laptop, a little red dot shone on Sam's map, showing them exactly where he was. He asked Sam if he could get any closer to anything that had to with his laptop, and he said he would try.

So, by the fifth week, Sam came over to Dean with a triumphant smile. He looked at him confused before he set the computer in front of Dean with some files on the screen. He gave Sam a face something along the line of 'are you being serious right now?', but Sam said, "Just read it, Dean." So he sighed and took the computer from Sam and red the files. As he read, his lips parted and disbelief surfaced in his mind.

When he finished, he looked up at Sam, who was still smiling, and asked, "Is this what I think it is?"

Sam nodded once and said back, "it is. The encrypted files from his computer. I hacked into his system. Apparently he keeps record of his larger plans so he doesn't forget where he wants to go while on smaller jobs."

"Sam, this is. . Wow. Great job, man." Was all he could say.

"Yeah. And it looks like he plans on being in Oklahoma in two days. A massacre, at one of their popular arcades. We're not too far from there, actually. Maybe a day and a half of driving. If we leave tonight we should get there in time, if you want. I mean, we already did what we came to do here, so I figured, why not?"

Dean cracked a smile at his brother and told him, "I like your way of thinking." He jumped up from his chair and started packing up their stuff.

* * *

The next day and a half they spent driving, almost non stop. Dean was eager to see this guy, even though he planned on killing him, but that didn't change a thing. He planned on at least talking to him before he ganked him.

Sam parked the impala behind the bushes near an old, rundown house. It was in good condition, good enough for a temporary living space. According to their map, Cas was staying here while he was in town. They both looked at one another, and Sam said, "You ready, Dean?"

Dean sighed and looked at the house. "Yeah, I'm good. You got my gun?" Sam reached into the back seat where a backpack sat, and pulled out a gun with a long, thin barrel. Dean took it and observed it, as he often did. There were etchings all along the barrel, a pentagram on the handle, and the Latin words _non timebo mala,_ meaning "I will fear no evil." He looked back up at his brother, who nodded once. Dean stepped out of the car and started towards the house, but Sam rolled down the window and called him.

"Just try not to take too long once he gets here, alright? I don't want to end up sitting here for several hours."

"Yeah, Sam, I got it. I only plan on having about a twenty minute conversation with the guy. I'll be out as soon as I can." Sam nodded again and rolled up the window, and Dean headed for the house. The door creaked when he went in, but there was no one home, so he didn't make much of it. He walked around until he found the room with his belongings, which happened to be the dining room of the place, which was surprisingly very large. He leaned on the table that was pushed up against the back wall and waited.

Maybe half an hour went by before he heard the sound of a car pull up from outside. Dean had closed his eyes a while before and had his arms crossed over his chest, waiting. The moment he heard the noise, his eyes shot open and he uncrossed his arms. When he heard the door creak open, he stood up straight and looked at his gun. The footsteps came closer until they entered the room, and then abruptly stopped.

"Castiel," Dean said. "You were out a little longer than I expected you to be."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've gone too far! Who do you think you are? Is this what you came for? Well, this means war!" - Nickelback, This Means War

"Dean Winchester." Castiel said through gritted teeth. He was angry. Or stunned, possibly confused. He had seen it all before. He knew what all the expressions were, and he memorized them _all_ by heart.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking. 'What are you doing here; what do you want; how did you find me'; blah blah blah. Well, lucky for you, I'm going to be nice and answer your questions. So," Dean finally lifted his head and looked Cas in the face, and a little surprised. He was not expecting his eyes. They were so bright, the brightest of blues. Dean had never seen anything like it. And he definitely wasn't expecting to think they looked good on the guy.

His semi-curly brown hair had gotten a little longer, since he probably hadn't been able to find a barber shop that hadn't already seen his face, but he liked that, too. What the hell? Dean thought to himself. Cas' trench coat was still in perfect condition, as was the navy blue suit and deep blue silk tie he always seemed to be wearing. Dean took a silent deep breath trying to push the strange thoughts of his enemy away. If they even were enemies. To be completely honest, Dean wasn't sure what they were exactly.

"Then answer them instead of just staring at me." Cas said. Now he was staring with a look that seemed only intimate, or maybe that was just his thoughts messing with his again making it seem that way. But either way, he couldn't help the comment that popped into his mind.

"Oh, I will. But I hate to break it to you," He said. He left his mouth hang slightly open for a moment as his quickly swept his eyes up and down Cas' form. "Last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid." He watched as Cas' jaw clench and he saw his hands go into fists, and he smirked at his obvious annoyance and discomfort. Dean let out a short laugh as he took a couple steps towards the man in the trench coat. "Answer number one: I had fun using the crime scenes to communicate, I did, but it could get in my way and that wouldn't be very good, now would it? So, I can't have you around to mess me up. Basically, I'm here to kill you. Simple." Dean watched as Cas' face hardened even more than it had already been. The sight brings him even more joy.

"Answer number two:," Dean continued, "I kind of just told you what I want; I want you dead and out of my way. I can't have any distractions. They're a big fat no in this line of work." Cas lowered his head and continued to glare at Dean. A normal person would probably find his stare menacing, but it didn't phase Dean in the slightest. He'd seen worse.

"Answer number three: let's just say I know someone with a little technical skills." He shrugged. "I tracked your laptop. Brought me here." Dean watched him for yet another reaction, and was surprised at what he saw. He seemed like he just figured out the world's hardest riddle. He looked up at Dean looking completely dumbfounded. Dean felt himself pull his eyebrows together as Cas continued to stare at him.

"What?" He demanded.

"So that's what happened." Cas said. "I knew something was off about it all. I knew there was something to it."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Dean asked again. Where was he going with this?

"It all makes sense now." Cas started laughing, and Dean was getting aggravated.

"What does?" He snapped.

"I had a feeling you weren't in all this alone." He went on knowingly. "Oh, yes, I did my research on you, Dean. I probably know things that you wouldn't expect for me to know. Like your little friend who helps you out on jobs." As soon as he finished his sentence, Dean's blood ran cold and he tensed. No, he couldn't. There's no way he could know. . . Could he?

Cas must have seen Dean tense, and some form of panic must have shown on his face, even if it was just for a second, because Cas started laughing again. His laugh did nothing but fuel the small patch of anger that had been waiting for a reason to come out. Now it was swelling to the surface like a balloon being filled too fast.

"What shit are you playing with me?" Dean growled, which only seemed to amuse Cas further. He looked at Dean with a one sided smile.

"Oh, this isn't some 'shit' Dean. I know your game. Your little hidden pawn. Your secret weapon. It's no use lying to me. But, how you managed to pull him off the path he was headed down and into yours still nags at me." He finished his sentence in a murmur, as if he was thinking. Dean let out a slow breath as his own fists clenched together, and the action also seemed to effect Cas as it had effected him just a few minutes earlier. He realized then that Cas did know. He had no idea how, but he knew.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but you better shut up." He tried to lie, but no matter how hard he was trying to cover it, Dean could hear the strain in his voice that pushed past the sternness he was trying to evade.

"Oh, don't even try, Dean. You already know what I know. You're hoping that you're wrong, but you're not, and it bothers the hell out of you. It bothers you to the core that I know all about your little brother and you can't do anything about it."

"You don't know shit about my brother!" Dean hissed. He glared at Cas even harder, feeling the heat build in his chest. Cas talking about Sam was getting to him, but that's probably exactly what he wanted.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. See, I did research on him, too." A coy smile found its way to his face and Dean wanted to jump on him, wipe the smile right off his face. Watch as his blood runs through his fingers and the life in his body die. Anyone who talks about his brother is a threat. No one should know about him. He made sure of that. Or, at least he did his best to cover for him. He erased everything from the internet and everywhere else he could find his brother's information; records, whereabouts from the last month, everything. What could he have possibly forgotten?

"It was very difficult finding what I needed, but I did eventually. You did a good job covering up for him, just not a good enough job to keep me from what I want. And let me say, you're reaction to my knowing about Sam is just as I expected it to be." Cas crossed his arms across his chest and watched Dean, waiting to see what he would do. And oh, was he going to do something; he was going to shoot him in the head and make sure his brother's name never left his mouth again!

He scrambled from where he was and started towards Cas, pulling the safety on the gun back as he did. Cas noticed, and he was just a few feet away before a long silver knife slid down from his sleeve and into his hand. Dean stopped where he was and instead held the gun up, poised right between his eyes. Cas just gave a single, hard laugh and shook his head. "Dean, Dean, Dean. Come on, you're better than this!" He teased. "Just put the gun down, and well fight like real men. You know you want to. Unless, of course, you're scared."

That was it. That settled it for Dean. With an annoyed sound, almost a growl, he clicked the safety back into place and flung his gun onto the table and then looked back as Cas as he smiled. "I knew you couldn't say no." He said, and tossed his knife across the room to land beside Dean's gun. He pushed the sleeves of his trench coat up some and cracked his knuckles in anticipation. "Now, where were we?"

"I was about to beat you into unconsciousness." Dean snarled.

"Good luck with that, pretty boy." Cas said. Nothing Dean said or did seemed to phase him. It was annoying. He wasn't sure how it happened, but at some point he and Cas had started circling each other, like it it was some wrestling match. Dean was staring him down hard, and Cas was doing the same, but he also seemed to feel a little entertained, which really pissed Dean off. He popped his own knuckles and stopped walking, turning his body towards the man across the floor from his.

"I hope you had a nice life, Novak. Because it's about to become mine."

"Then what are you waiting for? Show me what you got, Winchester." He encouraged. Oh, he was asking for it. He was asking for it and Dean was going to give it to him.

That's when Dean charged him, swinging his fist, but Cas dodged it easily and knocked Dean in the jaw as he recoiled from his own swing. He stumbled back from the force, bringing a hand up to cup the part of his face that took the punch. Cas stepped back over to him and grabbed the front of his shirt and threw him against the wall, and Dean grunted from the painful impact, and he thought he might have heard the cement crack behind him. Cas leaned uncomfortably close to his face, pressing his right forearm into Dean's throat, cutting off the majority of his air. He was laughing.

"Dean," Cas said in mock shame, "now you're just playing with me."

"I'm not playing with you yet, Cas," Dean managed to say, Cas' arm still pressing into his windpipe. "I'm just warming up."

"Uh huh." Cas studied his face before he yanked him from the wall and shoved him into the room, sighing as he did so. "Come _on_ , Dean! You wanted to fight, so fig-" he was cut off to a blow to the stomach, which caused him to double over and groan. Dean took that opportunity to bring his fist straight up into his nose, which made his head fly back, and he staggered into the wall. Dean stared at his component, top lip curled back in a snarl as he watched him collect himself.

When Cas finally looked up there was blood dripping from his nose and down his face. And when he smiled, it got inside his mouth turning his smile a mix of white and red. And even though Dean found his smile somewhat attractive, he couldn't help but think it just looked downright creepy mingled with his blood.

"Now _that's_ more like it." He said, and jumped out front he wall, fist colliding with the left underside of Dean's jaw, sending him to the floor. He stood over him and smirked, then his leg came in contact with his stomach, chest, head, and legs over and over again. Dean couldn't take much more. The pain was making him see spots. He reached out with effort and grabbed one of Cas' legs and jerked it towards him. Cas fell to the floor with a strangled shout, and Dean quickly jumped on him. He had one leg on each side of him as he sat on Cas' chest. He threw punch after punch to his face, thinking after each one; _Stay. Away. From. My. Brother._

He got around seventeen punches in before Cas finally lost it. He kneed Dean in the back - hard - and pushed himself up from underneath him. Cas had nailed him right at the small of his back, and it hurt like a bitch. He was immobilized for a few moments, any movement sent waves of tingling pain throughout his body. Cas took advantage of this and soon he was the one pinning Dean to the cold floor.

He grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted his head off of the ground, threw a punch, Dean's head smacking the ground after the blow. He did this over and over, but eventually replaced his punches with his hands wrapped around his throat. Dean grabbed his wrists to try and pry him off, but he was throbbing with so much pain, he wasn't too surprised he couldn't wrench his hands off of him.

Cas had his knees on either side of Dean, and his feet were hooked on the inner side of his legs, holding them in place so he couldn't kick him off. Cas' lips curled back in a snarl as he tightened his hands and pushed harder on Dean's throat. The need for air was becoming greater. Dean was starting to see white and purple spots dance across his vision. He needed to get Cas off, or he knew he would suffocate.

"I was expecting a little more of a challenge than this, Dean. Although I'm not complaining. You're not that bad." Cas leaned down to whisper in his ear, pressing even harder against his windpipe, completely cutting off his air. He shut his eyes, hoping that maybe it would help with the dizziness he was starting to feel. "Over the past few weeks I've come to terms that you're a threat to my work. And so after we're done here and you're just another body for me to dispose of. . _Your brother is next._ "

Deans eyes shot open and he watched unblinking as Cas pulled his head back to smirk at him. He could feel the balloon of anger in his chest filling up again, bigger and more heated than before. He thought about Sam - his baby brother - being beaten and killed by the man looking down at him.

And that's all it took.

Dean released Cas' left wrist and curled it into a fist, meeting it with his side with as much strength as he could muster. Cas immediately released his throat, and Dean sprang up as quickly as he could through the pain, before Cas could pin him down again. He didn't even stop to let him catch a breath, he just went after him. Punch after punch, and he even grabbed the side of his head and slammed it down in the floor a few times. Once his knuckles were used, bloody and throbbing, he stood up and started kicking him.

He lost count of how many times he did it, but he didn't stop until his leg was getting tired. By that time, Cas was slumped against the wall, almost unconscious, but not quite. Dean was about to deliver one final blow to finish the job, but that's when he eyed the gun on the table for the first time since he tossed it over.

He quickly went over and snatched it off the table and went back to the man on the floor, beaten and bloody, by his hands. Cas rolled his head to look at Dean as he raised the gunpoint to his face. Cas smiled weakly at him, wincing at his deeply split lip. "Now, that is what I had been expecting." He said, his voice scratchy from the beating he took. "Go ahead. Do it. I'll be out of your way, and you and Sam can continue on your way like I never existed."

Dean said nothing. He clicked back the safety on the gun and continued to hold it to his head. "Or. . " Cas suggested.

"Or?" Dean asked. "You just threatened my brother. You know more than you should. Why would I ever give you an option for anything?"

"I can guess," Cas began, but stopped momentarily as his breath caught from breathing in too much, and he grimaced. He remained silent until he felt comfortable speaking again. "I can guess you went through my files, as well as just tracking my computer. You know about the massacre. And you want to be part of it. I can just see it on your face, Dean. Join me, we'll do it together. It would be even more successful with the two of us taking it on."

"And why would I want to do that?" He asked sternly.

"Because you and I are alike, Dean. We both thrive off of the feeling this job gives us. We crave it. And I can tell right now, that you don't know why you want to; you just do." Cas finished speaking and leaned his head back up against the wall, waiting for a response. Dean started at him, thinking about his words.

No matter how much he didn't like it, how much he hated that Cas was right, he was right.

Dean slowly put the safety back on and set the gun down. When he looked back at Cas, he held out a hand to help him up. He left Cas sitting at the table and went outside to get Sam. He saw his little brother, nose deep in a book as he waited. He laughed quietly to himself as he approached the car.

Sam looked up at the sound of leaves crunching under feet, and the look he received had not been one he was expecting. Anger, relief, annoyance. Somewhere along those lines is the best he could come up with. "Dean, what the hell?" Sam started. "It's been almost an hour and. . What happened to you?" He eyed his brother up and down, lingering on his bloody knuckles.

"Well, the Holy Tax Accountant and I got into a fist fight. Didn't mean to keep you waiting, Sammy." Dean said. "And I won, by the way." Sam just raised an eyebrow at him, not saying anything. "What?" Dean finally said.

"Holy Tax Accountant?" He asked.

"That's what he looks like all the time!" Dean huffed.

"Alright, alright, whatever. But anyway, can we go now?" "Actually, that's what I came out here to tell you. . . No. You need to come inside."

"Wait, Dean, why?" Sam asked. Dean just spun on his heel and headed back the way he came.

"Just do it!" He shouted over his shoulder.

* * *

 

"Okay, what the hell happened in here?" Sam asked as soon as he stepped into the dining area of the run down building. "It looks like a wreckage zone." There were things scattered all over the place, a few broken chairs, and a small broken alarm clock, and dust was billowing everywhere. They could see it through the rays of sunlight.

"Like I said before; fist fight. Things get kind of rough and nasty sometimes, Sammy." Dean said. Sam kept looking around, until his eyes finally found Castiel, sitting on a more plush chair by the end of the table. Castiel watched as Sam looked him over, and Castiel did the same thing to Sam.

He was taller than he'd anticipated. Well, he wasn't actually any taller, but if he said anything to them he was sure they'd know what he meant. Sam listed his hand in a small wave and Castiel did the same. He watched Sam as he looked back and forth between Dean and himself, like he was trying to figure something out.

"So, I thought you two were going to try and kill each other today, not call a meeting." Sam said.

"Well, things happen, and things change. Get used to it." Dean said. Sam frowned at his brother, and the moment made Cas smile a little. He never saw people bond like this anymore. Especially not around him and who all was left of his family. . . "So." Dean said, pulling Cas out of his daze. "Show us these plans of yours again, before I change my mind and only two of us leave." Cas looked back and forth between them once more, and then he opened his laptop carefully, and pulled up his files.

He turned the screen so they both could read, or re-read, the plan. It took several minutes before either of them looked up from the screen. The first one to do so was Sam, watching him with a respectful arch of his eyebrow. His brother looked up shortly after looking like he was trying to contain laughter, but he was serious at the same time. "Okay." Sam said after a few minutes of silence. "So, this is the plan?"

"I believe so." He answered.

"It's a good plan, very well laid out. But if you want Sam and I to be in it you need to make some alterations so it can involve the three of us and not just you. So, Sam the Nerd here is going to do that and I'm going to get you a glass of water, because, it all honesty, you look like shit." Dean said. Cas rolled his eyes as Dean sauntered off to the kitchen to find some glasses, and he was soon filling up one for each of them.

Dean came back in just as Sam gave a whoop of joy. Dean immediately went to look over his shoulder, and a smile of his own made it's way to his face. He looked up at Cas with a devilish grin, obviously pleased with whatever Sam did to his plans.

"Alright, let's all load up. We've got a massacre to create." Dean said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know something? Nobody ever does anything to be nice. They always want to get something out of it." - Marvin's Room

"Don't think that I trust you just because I let you in on this. Because I don't." Cas said once they were on their way down the road. "If you make any move to backstab me, you'll both be dead before either one of you can say 'son of a bitch.'"

"I never said you did." Dean said, keeping his eyes on the road. "But, you were the one who asked us for help on your little project."

Cas' face twisted into a frown as he looked at Dean. "I didn't ask you for help. I offered to let you in on my plans, because one; it would be easier for me if I didn't have to do it completely by myself, although I am perfectly capable. And two; I thought you might be interested because we think alike. I never said I was asking for help, because I don't need any."

Dean quietly snorted, possibly hoping Cas wouldn't hear, but he did anyway. He could feel himself growing angry. He did not ask for help. He had offered, mostly to keep Dean from ripping his limbs off, but he would never say that out loud. The day he asked Dean Winchester for any sort of help will be the day the sky falls.

"Don't mock me, because I can, and will cut your tongue off." They reached a stop sign and the car ceased its movement. Dean looked over at him with his green eyes and stared at him like he was a little kid wanting to beat up a middle school bully. Cas didn't like it. It annoyed him to think that Dean looked down on him like he couldn't accomplish what he could.

But no matter how much it made him want to smack the look from his face, there was something about him that stopped him. Maybe it was his eyes, or his fondness of his brother. While they were loading all their stuff into Dean's impala, he had been observing him.

He had watched him as he picked up some of his things and brought them to his car, the way his muscles tightened and shifted to hold his possessions, the way he walked so he could see where he was going and not trip over anything that was on the ground. Cas definitely admired his bowlegs. He didn't see too many people who had them these days. He watched the way his hair shined in the sunlight, turning a different shade of blond when he was in the shadows. He noticed all the freckles that were splattered across his cheekbones and his nose.

He also watched the way his face would change when he was focused on rearranging everything to fit in the trunk. Once he had shut it and turned to Cas, asking if he was ready, all he could do was stare into those deep green eyes before he replied, he was just so interested in Dean and what he was doing and what he looked like doing it that he had forgotten what exactly it was he had been doing in the first place. But he had gathered his thoughts and they hit the road.

Cas knew he shouldn't watch or think about Dean in that way or any way related to it, but he just couldn't help it for some odd reason. Something about him attracted Cas, even if he did try to kill him about an hour or so ago. Dean probably had a strong disliking for him, and Cas knew it, too.

After he mentioned Sam, there was no possible way Dean would even consider being friends with him, much less look at him in an affectionate way. Cas knew he couldn't let any thoughts regarding that get in his way or it could bite him in the ass. So he took a deep breath and met Dean's stare with one of his own.

"I'm serious." Cas said. "Don't push me."

Dean kept his gaze for a little while longer then rolled his eyes as he looked away. "Whatever you say, Mr. Tough Guy." That comment really got Cas to flare inside. He hoped he didn't just refer to him as weak, because if he did he would be paying for it later.

"Oh don't even. Says the guy who crumples at a single mention of his brother." Cas said, glaring at the driver. Dean clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, looking like he was trying to keep calm. Because even though he might have been trying to get on his nerves like Dean was trying to get on his, driving in a bad mood was uncomfortable.

"Just shut up." He finally says through clenched teeth.

"Why should I?"

"Because, I'm the one driving, and I could kick you out and any time, and you're starting to get on my nerves so I suggest being quiet so that doesn't happen."

"Kicking me out wouldn't be wise. I could always get a word out and rat you and Sam out to the cops. Plus, those are my plans, not yours. So you need me along anyway."

"I don't need anyone but Sam. And if I kicked you out, I would kill you before you left that seat, so no, you wouldn't rat us out. Although these may be your plans, Sam and I have read over them and we're not stupid, so we know how to carry it out, so technically you're not really needed. Your just here for the ride."

"Oh, am I? If I recall, I'm the one who suggested you come, so it's my doing that you're here. So I may not be driving, but you're along with me for the ride." Cas said.

"Not in my car, you're not." Dean said, clearly irritated.

"I beg to differ." Cas argued.

"You know what, just shut your damn mouth before I make you shut it. I'll knock you out cold before you know what's coming." Dean growled.

"Oh, I'd love to see you try." Cas said back, glaring at him and his voice low and challenging. Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white and making the veins in his hands pop.

"Hey!" Sam shouted from the back seat, "Why don't you both just not talk at all? I think it's best that neither of you try to kill each other while one is driving. I need a nap and I do not want to get in a wreck while I'm sleeping. If I wake up to one of you two dead, the other person will be killed by me. Understand? Now, both of you; shut up."

He looked at them both for another few moments then settled into the seat. Both Cas and Dean watched him for a while as he drifted off, eventually letting the hum of the impala and the faint music from the radio lull him to sleep. It took maybe an hour, but the tension between the two men eased mostly, but they still didn't say anything. Cas just wrung his hands and looked out the window, twiddling his thumbs.

Cas let his mind wander. No matter how much he tried to get away from it, it always wandered back to Dean. He wanted to try and understand the thoughts that he was having. He knew him for weeks, but he only just met him. He had thought about him quite a bit the last few weeks, he wasn't able to help himself. He wanted to know why. He turned his head and stole a look at Dean, who didn't seem to notice because he looked lost in a world of thought all his own.

He laid his hands flat across his lap, palms up with his fingers still laced together. All he did was stare, trying to decipher his thoughts. Because if he were to be honest he had no clue what to make of them. He hadn't thought like that in such a long time he had forgotten what it meant. But even if he did eventually figure it out, it wouldn't matter. Once this whole thing was over with, they would either go their separate ways, or one of them would end up dead. Most likely the latter.

He knew Dean didn't like him. He kind of made that official by mentioning his brother, but he didn't care. He didn't like him very much either, he just knew that he liked his work and technique. He wanted nothing more than to get this over with as soon as possible and put as much space between him and the Winchester's as he could.

At least he was almost sure that's what he wanted. The time he's had to himself to think about the past weeks had the gears in his mind turning, mixing older thoughts with new ones. And after meeting him today, even after the fight they had, he kept thinking. _Was_ that what he wanted?

He took a silent breath an once again tried to push the thoughts aside. He had plenty of time to contemplate everything, so he didn't need or want to do it now. He clasped his hands back together and turned his attention back to the trees, cars, and buildings that rushed past the window. He went deep into a place in his mind where his head was clear of thoughts and he could just take in what was around him. It wasn't until he felt a tap on his shoulder that he was able to pull himself free from that space in his head, even though he didn't want to. He glanced at his shoulder, then at Dean who was waiting for Cas to pay attention to him.

"I need you to reach in the back seat and wake up Sam. We're making a pit stop." Dean said. Cas looked out the front window to find them in front of a stop sign, and just down the road was a McDonald's. He looked back at Dean and squinted his eyes, possibly trying to determine whether he was serious or not.

"You're joking, right?" Cas said bluntly. He wasn't austere about just walking into a burger joint and not expect to be recognized, did he?

"No, I don't believe I am." He said. "What part of what I said did you misunderstand?"

"It's not that I misunderstood, but do you really expect for us to just waltz right into a public restaurant, not to mention a popular one that's high up on the food chain in the fast food industry, do you?"

Dean sighed. "Are you really going to do this with me right now? Yes, I do, we'll be fine. Just wake him up. I need a bacon cheeseburger before I go off on something, or someone, which would most likely be you." He looked away from Cas and back at the road, pressing his foot down on the gas. Cas inwardly sighed and twisted in his seat to reach back to Sam. He knocked his knee a few times before he stirred. He groaned a little, but he sat up and started to rub the sleep from his eyes.

When they pulled into the parking lot and found a spot, Dean was out of the car pretty quickly, with Cas and Sam close behind him. Once they were in the line to order, Cas couldn't help but look around at the people around them, just waiting for someone to realize who they are and call them in. Although people did look at them, they didn't think twice about them. They all just treated them like any other people who might show up.

Cas thought it was strange. He looked up at Sam, who was calmly studying the menu choices, then over to Dean, who had his arms crossed and was staring at the stone floor in from of his feet, quietly tapping his fingers in sync on his arm. Nearly fifteen minutes passed before it was their turn at the register.

They picked a booth in the corner once they had ordered and sat down, Sam and Dean on one side and Cas on the other. He kept his eyes on the straw in his drink, not really wanting to look up at the brothers sitting across from him. He just slowly sipped his soda and kept his eyes averted. It wasn't until Dean addressed him that he looked either of them in the eye for the first time since the car. "So Cas, what are you like?"

"I'm sorry?" Cas replied, surprised at what he had been asked.

"Well, if I'm going to have to put up with you for a while, I may as well know you better." Dean said. Sam just watched him with an eyebrow raised.

"Oh."

"Yeah, well, I'm not really all that sunshine and daisies about it either. Sam here," he jerked his head towards his brother, "is kind of making me. Even though it's stupid."

"Dean." Sam said, and Dean frowned.

"Fine." He turned his attention back to Cas and leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting them on the table in front of him like he was genuinely interested in what he was about to tell him. "So. Tell us about yourself."

"Dean," Cas sighed, "you don't have to pretend to be interested. It won't help anything."

"Oh I know. But if I don't make some sort of effort, Sam will deprive me of the one thing I thrive for."

"Yes, I will." Sam chimed in. He turned his attention to Cas and shrugged. "He just about lives for pie." Dean's face went blank and he looked at his brother, and just stared. Sam knew he was watching him, but he didn't pay any attention to him. It went on for several minutes before Sam finally gave in and gave his older brother a sideways glance. "What?"

"He didn't need to know that." Dean explained. "Really, Sam, monitor what comes out of that chomper of yours more often."

Sam just sighed and shook his head. "Dean. Stop getting off topic." He looked at Cas. "Sorry about him. So, tell us about yourself a little." Cas looked back and forth between Sam, who was watching him and waiting for him to say something, and Dean, who was messing with the ketchup bottle avoiding eye contact, clearly a little annoyed. He looked down at the lid of his cup, picking what to tell about himself to the Winchesters.

He had never really had any sort of opportunity to sort through the mess that was his life and tell about it. So he had no clue where to start, or how. But he sat there, going through all his thoughts and actions, finding something to say. The more he sifted through everything, the more and more he found himself to not be the strong, fearless man he had been acting like the past couple of years. The more he dug into his brain, the more fragile his existence revealed itself to be. He didn't like it. There were certain things he didn't want to talk about, and others that he strictly refused to take part in. But he finally settled on a mindset and prepared to speak.

"Fine." He said. "My name is Castiel, I'm a Leo. I like the dark, watching people get what's coming to them, and I'm gay. Your turn." Sam raised his eyebrows while Dean cocked one of his, and after a moment Cas saw the tiniest hint of a smirk play at his lips.

"All right." Dean said. He leaned a little closer to Cas over the table and folded his hands. "My name is Dean, I'm an Aquarius. I like sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women." Castiel snorted, but just barley. He though Dean didn't hear it, and he did, so he frowned at him.

"Well, it's something." Sam sighed. "So I guess it's my turn. I'm Sam, I'm a Taurus. I like reading, doing research, and I _hate_ clowns." Cas nearly choked on his drink when Sam was finished.

"I'm sorry, but. . . You're scared of clowns?" Cas asked in disbelief. Sam open his mouth to reply, but Dean did it for him.

"Oh, yes." Dean said a matter-of-factly. "Very scared of clowns." Cas smiled some at the pure bitchface Sam was giving his older brother, but Dean just smiled smugly at him. At that moment, their food arrived and they ate most of the food in silence, occasionally bringing up Sam's irrational fear of clowns. When they finished, they went out to the impala and climbed in, Cas requesting for the back seat so he could take a nap that he probably needed to take. The brothers agreed, and soon after they were on the road again.

He laid on his back, staring out the window where he could see. And after a while, the humming of the car's engine and the faint sound of the radio put Cas to sleep.

* * *

 

Sam and Dean were mostly quiet, with a few comments every now and then. He would look in the mirror every once in a while to see Cas was still sleeping. He thought he looked so vulnerable while he slept. His eyes closed and his mind out of consciousness, his mouth was slack, as was the rest of his body. Dean watched as he shifted, pulling his trench coat a little tighter around himself. He kept his fingers curled around the edge as he stilled again, breathing in deep as he settled back in.

He felt his stomach flutter as he looked at Cas. It had been a while since he had felt himself get butterflies by looking at someone. He couldn't even remember when it was. Or even if it was a girl or a guy, but didn't really care. He had to keep looking at the road, but he always stole glances at the man in the trench coat in the back seat of his car. He looked at his hair, his closed eyes, his nose, his hands, his clothed body. He lastly found himself looking at the guy's lips. They seemed a little dry, but they were full and pink, and kissable. . .

Dean found himself staring longer than necessary, and Sam noticed. _What the hell?_ Dean quickly thought to himself.

"You know," Sam started, "if you find the guy attractive, you could at least try to hide it. He probably hates your guts."

"I don't think he's attractive." Dean said immediately, trying to dismiss the conversation. But as he thought, it didn't work. Some things just don't pass with his kid brother as they used to.

Sam scoffed. "Yeah. Sure you don't. That's why you keep staring at him; maybe he'll eventually burst into flames if you stare hard enough."

"Shut up, Sam."

"Dean, just tell me. It's not like I'm going to tell him."

"I don't like him. He threatened your life, Sam. I won't stand for that. Not ever."

"Maybe; but you almost beat his out of him. So you two are even. Stop holding a grudge about it. It won't get us anywhere. All it will get us is time wasted and into trouble."

"Don't. Just stop. I don't want to talk about this anymore." Dean tried to dismiss the conversation again, but Sam just won't let it slide.

"You care about me too much, Dean. You're worried every little thing is going to hurt me. I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself. I appreciate your efforts to protect me, but it's annoying sometimes."

"Sammy, don't. . Please. Just let it go." Sam sighed and stared at his older brother, face drawn into a look of concern and slight annoyance. But the longer he watched him, the more he thought.

"Dean. . . This isn't about what happened when this all started, is it?" Sam asked, his tone a little lighter. Dean didn't answer him. "Dean," he said again, but still got no answer. " _Dean._ "

"What, Sam?" Dean snapped.

"You're seriously still obsessing over what happened? Dean, it was _six years ago_. You need to move on."

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed, looking over at his brother. "I'm done talking about this. I don't want to hear any more. All right?"

"Fine, Dean. But I'm just saying that we will have to talk about it at some point. And soon." Sam sighed. Dean didn't answer him, instead he fixed his stare on the road, and he tightened his hands on the steering wheel.

The next few hours went by in complete silence. Occasionally Sam and Dean would look at one another, but never at the same time. Dean still stole some glances at Cas from the rear view mirror to make sure he was still passed out. But after a while, he groaned quietly and sat up, dragging a hand over his face. He blinked a few times to get the sleep out of his eyes, and then looked in the rear view mirror to find Dean watching his every move. "What?" He asked groggily.

Dean sighed and looked away before replying. "Nothing. You were out for a few hours, that's all. Plus you moved around only once, so for a while I thought you might have died in your sleep." Dean said.

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you?" Cas said. Dean could tell he was trying to sound somewhat annoyed, but he could hear the little hint of humor in his voice. It made him smirk.

They drove maybe another half hour before they passed the Wyoming state limits. Sam leaned his head out the window and stared at the sun as it slowly sank below the horizon.

He turned to look at Dean and said, "Sun is going down. We need to find a place to stay for the night."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean said. "Who knew it would take so long to get from Missoula, Montana to Wyoming. You have no idea how bad I need to stretch my legs."

"Yeah, well, there's a town called Cody not too far from here, I guess we should try there. See if there's any abandoned houses or cheap hotels. We can't afford to be caught."

"Yeah, I know Sam. How you doing back there, Cas?"

"I'm doing fine, Dean. And, if I may add, I remember passing through Cody a few months ago, there's an old motel about ten miles from that sign we just passed." They reached a stop sign, and the impala slowed to a stop. Dean twisted in his seat to look at Cas directly.

"Oh really?"

He said. "Yes." Cas said simply.

"All right." Dean replied, and turned back around, pressing his foot onto the gas petal. They drove until they reached the motel Cas mentioned, and they all climbed out, all of then sighing with relief at the feeling of straightening out their legs. Sam went to check them in while Dean and Cas wordlessly gathered their things.

Sam walked out and held up their room card. He said he wasn't able to get two rooms, so he had to pay for a large one. Both Cas and Dean groaned at the news but received a glare from Sam, so they did their best to let it go.

They took their things and went to their room, Dean and Sam immediately claiming the beds, leaving Cas to make due with the pullout couch. Dean looked over at Cas, who was pulling the cushions off of the furniture to pull out the mattress, and took a deep breath. These next couple of weeks were going to be long.


End file.
